Galvanizing every cell, every nerve ending against menacing threats from the Ministers of Control, conspiracy slams the ball out of the park.

How can we divorce ourselves from those stiff configurations of wire-spectacled puppets prodigiously concocting yet another variation of the same dichotomy, centuries of armchair philosophers myopically peering out from carefully constructed bars of self-inflicted cages; baiting us with their mind traps, deliberately ignoring the Elephas maximus peering through the glass at the lineup of mugs: Merlin, Smuggler, Sairy Gamp, Queen Victoria…

What will it take for us to strike out on our own, to brazenly strip off those silken veils between have and have not without losing ourselves in the vast up-swell of unbridled emotion: “Total penetration! Total penetration!” The stampede begins as crowds roll down the street, the cock crows, the bull takes off and Sisyphus yells: “I can’t, yet I must!” Failure is no longer an option.

Predictably the lemmings are hauled off in mindless iteration, pawns dumped in the interstices between being and begetting: “Life must go on.”